


One Second Per Second And Not A Second More

by Tozette



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 03:26:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15743280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tozette/pseuds/Tozette
Summary: On October 31, 1981, in the sleepy little village of Godric’s Hollow, the apparition of one Hermione Granger was drowned out, rendered unremarkable, in a sudden explosion of light and sound from the Potter residence.





	One Second Per Second And Not A Second More

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was once on my tumblr, and no longer lives there. It has not seen much editing since.
> 
> Basically, it is an answer to the lengthy time travel fics featuring Harry as the main character. Don't get me wrong, I love that genre. BUT if it was Hermione instead, I think some problems would be solved more... efficiently. 
> 
> With backup plans. 
> 
> And an itemised to-do list.

 

On October 31, 1981, in the sleepy little village of Godric’s Hollow, the apparition of one Hermione Granger was drowned out, rendered unremarkable, in a sudden explosion of light and sound from the Potter residence.

Hot green light and wind sent debris streaming through the narrow village streets and windows broke in nearby. Some lights turned on, but many more failed - electrical problem, the council would tell them later. Voices rose in alarm. People spilled out onto the street.

None of this really concerned Hermione. Her polyjuiced form was strange and unpleasant, but it was a grim truth that the fewer people who might notice her over the next few days, the better. 

Almost as soon as the initial shockwave settled, she was moving, swift and sure, slipping through the defunct wards of the Potters’ home - even Fidelus, as it happened, couldn’t hide something once the thing it had been cast on was reduced to rubble. 

Not five minutes later she disapparated with a soft  _pop_ , carrying a bundle in her arms. 

 

* * *

 

She reappeared in a tiny alley way, behind a garbage skip. It smelled bad, but beggars could not be choosers. Harry was  _wailing_ , shocked and confused by the explosion and the violence and the sudden apparition.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she whispered, bouncing him gently, rocking him in the middle of a grimy muggle alley until he calmed. He looked back at her with bright green eyes. Hermione had not chosen to spend much time inspecting the bodies of his fallen parents, but from the glance she’d gotten he already did look quite a bit like his father. The eyes, though, had not appeared in any picture of James Potter she’d ever seen - and since there were many fewer pictures of Lily about, Hermione regarded those green eyes as being quite Harry’s own.

Hermione’s room in the Leaky Cauldron was, of course, a temporary measure. Tom could probably have been trusted not to mention her to any of the other patrons, but Hermione took no chances. She ducked into a muggle chemist and used some of the sample foundation to cover Harry’s new scar, smiling as he furrowed his forehead and whined in his sleep. It might not be famous already, but... well, there was something to be said for being cautious.

Then she gulped down another swig of polyjuice before she headed across muggle London and into the grimy little pub.

“Evening, Isolde,” Tom said cheerfully as she stepped in. “Who’s this little fella, then?”

“My nephew," Hermione shook her head, smiling and letting Tom see him. “My sister thinks he’s a squib,” she said with a sniff. As they were talking, Harry opened his eyes and peered curiously at the barman. 

“Aw, he’s just a baby. What does she know?” said Tom sympathetically. He held out one rough, calloused finger, and Harry grabbed it and gurgled at him. Tom laughed and waved “Isolde” back up to her room. “Go on, off with you, then. Get some sleep - you’re going to need it with a new babe.”

Hermione grimaced. He was probably right, unfortunately.

Her room was protected with all the layers of enchantment she could muster - which, following several long months of dashing about the middle of nowhere while they fled from the Dark Lord, were quite a few. She waved the door closed behind her. 

 “Right,” Hermione said, settling Harry on her hip. “That’s done.”

Without notice from her wand, a piece of parchment detached itself from her bag, unrolled itself with a snap and checked off  _Item One_  on her to do list. 

_Fetch Harry Potter: ✓_

She made sure he was clean and changed and offered him food - which she could not persuade him to eat - and finally left him so she could be certain she was prepared for her next task. 

Hermione was by no means uncertain about her ability to raise a child. Could she? Yes. Her capacity to make sure a child was clean, fed, educated and healthy was not in question. Did she  _want_ to? Not really. Hermione had fond memories of Harry Potter as a (sometimes, relatively speaking) dignified adult and she had no particular desire to change his nappies.

 

* * *

 

Sirius Black was a menace and Hermione was  _seriously_ considering giving Harry to Snape instead.

While she was sure both men would be affronted by the comparison, she couldn’t entirely see how handing the wriggling one year old over to his mother’s mad, dangerous friend was any better or worse than handing him over to his father’s mad, dangerous friend. 

Certainly they were mad and dangerous in different ways, but she didn’t think that really impacted their child-rearing skills. 

But in another life, Hermione knew that Harry regretted greatly not being in the care of his legal godfather, and thus Sirius Black it was going to be. 

Unfortunately, Sirius Black was ignoring her. 

“Mr Black,” she said, falling into step with him, “you can’t go after Pettigrew because --”

“Pettigrew?” he said shortly. “Never heard of him,” he dodged around an elderly wizard and made a very solid effort to get lost in the crowd so he could continue following Peter Pettigrew up ahead. 

“ _Mr Black_ ,” she hissed, holding Harry more tightly to her as she scrambled after him. Of all the--! 

She snatched him by the elbow and spun him around. There was probably a little magic in her grip, but honestly, you couldn’t expect any different from a powerful and very motivated young witch.

“Sirius Black,” she hissed frostily. “If you don’t stop and listen to me I swear I will hex you to within an inch of your life.” She paused, noticing that he didn’t seem to be taking her very seriously. “And then I will  _give your godson to Snape_ ,” she added sharply.

He whirled on her, suddenly furious, and his eyes were finally fixed on her. He’d looked angry to start with, though, tracking Pettigrew through the crowd of muggles with his shaking hands and his glazed eyes.

Ahead of them, a rat raced through the crowd and disappeared down a drain. There was no chance, Hermione thought with relief, of Sirius and Pettigrew having their infamous showdown now. 

She rearranged Harry in her arms and held him out to Sirius, raising her eyebrows pointedly.

Sirius blinked. He did a double-take. “ _Harry_? - What- Who are you?” he asked warily, snatching the child out of her arms. “Harry’s been missing since -”

“Since the day before yesterday, yes,” Hermione said breezily. “It seemed best to get him out of there, of course, and then I couldn’t track you down, Mr Black, until this morning.” Or, rather, it had seemed more efficient to simply scan the archives, back in 2000 - or, well, forward in 2000, technically - and then show up where she knew Sirius would arrive to confront Wormtail. 

Simple, really. 

“You - you took him from Godric’s Hollow,” Sirius said suspiciously.

“Honestly,” she sighed, “you’d think I hadn’t just handed him over to you. This,” she pointed to Harry, speaking very slowly and clearly, because maybe  _Harry_ wanted Sirius to raise him but Hermione thought he was not especially qualified for the job, “is your godson. He’s your responsibility, not mine. Now are you going to throw everything away and end up in Azkaban for petty revenge and leave him at the mercy of Lily’s relatives? Or are you going to suck it up and discharge your obligation to James?”

He looked like he’d been slapped. 

Yes, well, perhaps she’d been a little harsh.

Still, Sirius had made some truly ridiculous decisions the first time around.

“Pettigrew will get what’s coming to him eventually,” she said in a softer voice. “Take care of Harry, won’t you?”

“I --”

“Excellent,” she said, quite over the top of him, and heaved a bag full of baby-care odds and ends out from inside her own, much smaller, handbag. “Here you are.”

He took it blankly, juggling wand, baby and bags. “Who  _are_ you?”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “Goodbye, Harry,” she added, wiggling her fingers at the baby. 

And then she disapparated. 

Forty-five minutes later, 'Isolde' checked out of the Leaky Cauldron, telling Tom that she’d found other, better-suited carers for her nephew in Gortahork and was travelling to Ireland to meet with them. 

Fifteen minutes after  _that_ , Hermione Granger stepped out of the women’s loo at Eastcheap. She stretched and sighed in relief.

There was nothing like being back in her own body, of course, but the woman whose face she’d borrowed had had enviably manageable hair.

She spared a thought for Harry, stuck with Sirius. She very much hoped he’d take her advice, but if he didn’t... 

She sighed. She’d check back with the Dursleys once she was done in Little Hangleton. If Sirius did something stupid despite Harry’s best interests, she was sure he’d end up with his blood relatives all over again. 

Hermione checked off  _Item Two_  on her list and went on her merry way.

She had one more stop to make, and then she’d have to deal with the unfortunate fact that while Hermione Granger, tiny muggle baby, existed as a legal entity, Hermione Granger, _adult_ _witch_ , did not.

* * *

 

The Gaunt ring was precisely where Hermione expected it to be.

The shack stood empty, its inhabitants long since dead. There were bones outside the pitted door and when she pushed it open the inside smelled of damp wood and rust.

Part of the roof had fallen through at some point, and in the resulting sunbeam a snake sunned itself. It looked up when Hermione opened the door and its tongue flicked nervously - but as with most snakes, she left it alone and it ignored her. 

Hermione prodded the ring - with a stick, not her wand. She frowned at it, before producing a little silver plated box. Silver was good at containment, like running water. 

She’d handled horcruxes before. She could do this.

She hooked the ring with her stick, popped it into the box and, carefully, slid it into her pocket. 

Okay.

All right then. 

She didn’t bother leaving the shack before she Disapparated. 

The snake stared at the spot where she’d been for a few seconds, then restlessly shuffled its long scaled coils and settled back down to doze. 

 

* * *

 

It was almost impossible to get anything done in Wizarding London that week. The Dark Lord had fallen, the streets were safe, and the witches and wizards of the city had flown into a fierce celebration. 

Hermione picked her way through the puzzled muggles and flagrant Statute of Secrecy violations, ignoring the smoke and flashing lights of a city revelling in its new identity. There was at least  _one_ place that would be open for business this week.

Gringotts loomed from its Diagon Alley corner.

Goblins were pretty much always open for business. 

“I need some legal documents written up,” Hermione said, once she’d been accepted into an office. The brass plate upon the desk read ‘Bogrod’. “Identification, mostly.”

“Perhaps the office of a solicitor would be more appropriate,” said the goblin pointedly. 

“By ‘written up’, I mean ‘forged’,” Hermione clarified. 

“ _That_ is not a service--”

“I can pay you,” she added.

Bogrod stared at her, unblinking. 

There was a long, oppressive silence. 

The large clock in the room’s corner ticked.

“Five hundred galleons,” Hermione said, and, honestly, thank god for the money she’d taken from Harry’s vault before she returned to the past.

Bogrod’s thin, clever mouth curved into a narrow, inviting smile. “And how may Gringotts be of service today, Miss --?”

Hermione smiled thinly back at him. “Well, actually, that’s precisely what I’ve come to discuss.”

This was how Hermione Granger became Hermione Fawley, a pureblood witch from far eastern Europe and a recent arrival in Britain.

She stepped out of Gringotts with her papers in order, stamped and notorised and verified, and continued on her way.

Funny, wasn’t it, how blood purity worked?

* * *

 

With Items Three and Four safely taken care of, Hermione had to figure out how to manufacture some excuse to be inside Hogwarts castle and then get her hands on Ravenclaw’s diadem.

It was actually not as difficult as she’d feared. It was easy enough to organise a meeting with the Deputy Headmistress regarding the Defense position at Hogwarts. 

Minerva McGonagall was younger than Hermione remembered her, which stood to reason. It was still disconcerting. Age sat well on McGonagall, and Hermione was a little bit put off by the traces of what was once a striking, if severe, kind of beauty in her face.

“Well,” McGonagall was saying, peering sternly at her, “You’re certainly better qualified. If you want the position, it’s yours.”

“Yes,” Hermione agreed thoughtfully. “Well, I’ve got another offer I’m expecting, to be honest, so I’d like accept but -- may I get back to you in the next week?” 

McGonagall gave her a look that was a little weary. “Of course,” she agreed. 

Yes, well - Hermione doubted that the position was going anywhere. Poor Minerva. In passing, Hermione wondered what Dumbledore was doing that he wasn’t available for the interview, but then -- she’d prefer not to be facing a talented Legilimens anyway.

They shared polite platitudes, thanked one another, and prepared to leave, when Hermione paused.

“Before I go,” she said, “Could you direct me to the loo?”

“Certainly,” said McGonagall automatically. “Third door on your left.”

“Thank you,” said Hermione. 

She walked away, waited until McGonagall was no longer paying attention, and then swiftly changed direction. There was something she needed hidden in the Room of Requirement. 

**Author's Note:**

> This one is a complete one shot.


End file.
